


Hurtful Echos

by Anonymous



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt, F/F, Internal Conflict, Missing Scene, Pheromones, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Pollen, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-05 13:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21209036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Her thigh lands between Michael's and her unique scent invades her sanity and her weight on her unexpectedly feels good.Philippa Philippa Philippa.She's all around her.Michael doesn't have the heart to push her off of her.(Takes place right after Michael brings the emperor to prime universe.)





	Hurtful Echos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecake/gifts).

_There is something wrong with Philippa_, Michael realizes. _Something beyond the fact that she isn't her captain._

She's explaining the Klingons' homeworld, Q'onoS to Michael, but her hands are shaking slightly and there's the faintest sheen on her skin.

Her skin; it's a little flushed. And her eyes; they are a little dark.

Dark in a way that is void of cruelty, Michael thinks, of the evil she seems to harbor within her heart.

"Are you all right?" Michael asks, unintentionally interrupting. "You seem... restless."

"And you're surprised by that when you've taken me out of my universe without warning or permission?"

Michael stiffens, and attempts to explain herself again, but Philippa cuts her off with a dismissive motion. "Alona Pheromones."

"Um... Sorry?"

"From Talos IV. Alona Pheromones is a recreational drug made of its cosmic dust." Philippa turns her back when she continues, with no regard to the confusion storming Michael's mind. "I had it a few days ago and it takes a while to resolve from the body. It's triggered by intense activities, such as killing the person who took down your empire."

"What does it do?"

"Arouses."

Philippa calmly pours herself a drink and gulps it down while silence fills in the wide space between them, shrinking it, filling it heavy and loaded tension.

When she turns to Michael who's still speechless, she adds, "It doesn't cloud one's mind. Judgement. It affects only the libido." She fixes Michael with a sharp gaze that intimidates her. "Both the consumer's and those of the people in their presence."

Michael swallows thickly, attempting to spot any differences in her physical state with a shaky discretion.

"I've been having its effects leashed by my bracelet," Philippa says, ending her rising panic. "I shouldn't keep doing that."

"I... I will come back later and we can continue discussing the plan then."

Michael should move now, but she doesn't.

She can't.

Philippa is right in front of her; different from the one she's loved. Vicious. A false image. Yet she is Philippa still. Strong, imposing, captivating. And now in a state so delicate.

Michael's unable to look away, break the hold Philippa has on her with just her eyes. Eyes that, unfamiliar though they are, she has longed to see again.

"You will stay here and help me get rid of its effect," Philippa says quietly as she walks forward. "That's the only way it'll work."

Michael is aware of the meaning behind Philippa's words, but that meaning doesn't sear through her and make her flinch in fear and shock.

Guilt does. Guilt and regrets and longing sear through her.

They numb her as Philippa presses on her bracelet. Slowly, without a hitch to her movement as though what's between them, as new as it may be, isn't made of ache and loss and sorrow and complicated familiarity.

"I will not," Michael lets out as she feels it.

A wave of a beautiful scent, alluring in ways beyond logic, captures her senses. Another warmer wave raises her heat to scorching levels and another tugs at a hidden knot deep within her groin.

They all leave her mind intact. They all keep her fully aware of her heightening desire to do anything for this woman standing in front of her.

_Philippa_.

Not the emperor nor her captain, not the stranger nor the mentor, not the killer nor the protector.

Just Philippa. Alive.

_How can she lose her again?_

  
"Then who will? Not many people know I'm here, correct?"

Philippa erases any space between them and brings her face close to Michael's cheek. To her skin. To her scent.

She inhales her scent deeply, and shudders when she sighs. "I think we both know you have to do this."

Weakly, Michael tries to stop her. "I thought you loved her like she was your daughter."

Philippa fixes her with a stern look then. "You aren't my Michael." Philippa takes her by the waist and presses their bodies together.

Michael gasps, then easily melts.

Her hands dart to Philippa's shoulders, pushing without resolve as the sweetest of sensations spreads in her groin.

"Did you love my counterpart like she was your mother?" Philippa spits out.

She did not. She loved Captain Philippa Georgiou with reverence, with awe, with desire.

"Stop," Michael says even though every inch of her body burns to be touched by Philippa.

Philippa pushes her down the bed and settles on top of her like a non-threatening beast. Oddly enough.

Her thigh lands between Michael's and her unique scent invades her sanity and her weight on her unexpectedly feels good.

Philippa Philippa Philippa.

She's all around her.

Michael doesn't have the heart to push her off of her.

  
Philippa kisses her.

She isn't gentle, and though Michael gasps and shudders, she doesn't ask her to be.

Philippa's mouth is hot and demanding, her fingers ruthless on either sides of Michael's face, and her hips moving obscenely against hers.

Philippa is redder than a moment ago, her body is taut. She treats their clothes a little roughly, fondles Michael breast a little shakily, and buries her face in Michael's neck hotly to kiss and suck and mark.

Her intensity doesn't allow Michael the time to comprehend anything beyond the pleasurable connection of their partially nude bodies.

Philippa grunts, pinning Michael down one second and clutching the bed's covers the next. She moves her hips with need, but something is hindering her motion.

She kisses Michael's neck harshly, deeply, but relents all of a sudden, gasping.

She's still heavy on top of her, heaving and trembling and sweating, but she feels weak and breakable.

Michael gets the courage to look at her eyes, and finds them distant. As though Philippa herself is lost.

_To what?_

When Philippa finally meets her eyes, Michael senses the conflict within her.

Her heart breaks.

This woman has done evil, but she has been willing to sacrifice herself for her, too.

_No, this woman is Philippa._

So Michael wraps her arm around Philippa's neck and brings her down to feast on her neck. At the same time, she reaches inside Philippa's unbuttoned trousers and then into her underpants and earnestly touches her.

Philippa growls low in her throat through the entire trip and bites down hard on Michael's neck when Michael's fingers rub at her wet folds.

She crumbles easily after that. Both of them do.

Philippa fucks her fingers with no regard to the pressure on her wrist, and when she comes for the first time, she digs her fingers painfully in Michael's flesh. Then it immediately starts again, and this time, Philippa takes all of their clothes off and consumes Michael's body with hands and teeth and tongue.

The Logic that Michael's upbringing had, the logic that reminds Michael over and over again, through the sparks of lust, that they shouldn't be doing this, does nothing to prevent her body from responding to Philippa.

To her credit, though, Philippa doesn't humiliate her for it.

In fact, she only focuses on bringing out the most of Michael's wetness before adjusting their position

She raises one of Michael's legs and brings her sex onto Michael's. She thrusts without warning and takes a pace that's bruising.

_Philippa takes her._

The tears that have been trapped in Michael's eyes finally and silently brim over as Philippa fucks her. They seem to agitate Philippa, they seem to call for her own tears. Philippa doesn't cry, though. With winkles carved in her forehead and anger darkening her features further, she fucks Michael hard until her fire is fully quenched and her sex is coated with Michael's come.

Then, and only then, she falls apart, in Michael's arms, quietly growling in what feels like denial.

Philippa says nothing when she gets off Michael and sits on the bed's edge, unbothered by the stickiness on her body or her nudity.

Michael shakily collects her composure and clothes, but she manages to make herself presentable in a short time. Traces of the sweet waves from earlier linger around her, but all they manage in effect is weak twinges in Michael's groin.

Michael mind races with thoughts but she forces them to be mute so that she can maintain her dignity as she heads for the privacy of her quarters.

When she walks away to leave, Philippa speaks quietly. "I'm sorry, Michael."

Michael doesn't want to stop, and she doesn't. Not until the echo of Philippa's sincerity and shame reaches her.

She lingers at the door, then without turning around, she replies. "We will not talk about this."


End file.
